


letters from an illiterate, queer druggie

by rootofshiona



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugs, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual exploration, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, charlie gets uncomfortable during sex due to being in the wrong body, gay mac in denial, trans charlie, underage sex/sexual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rootofshiona/pseuds/rootofshiona
Summary: all the things i could tell you if i could fucking write. [written from charlie's POV, directed to mac.]





	letters from an illiterate, queer druggie

goddamn, i still remember the day we met. you cocked your head and looked at me with that crooked smirk, scoffing in a kind way at my suicide jokes - well, they weren't exactly jokes, but how could i tell anyone that? i had glue stains on my nose and your hair was gelled up, and we sensed a mutual understanding.  
"hey, hot. i love a girl who's ready to die."  
what you said made no sense to my ears and hurt my heart in a way but it drew me nearer to you.  
i don't think i ever understood life more than i did that day, toes to your heels. never leaving your side.  
least i hoped i'd never have to.  
here we are all this time later.

 

then we were 12, sexually frustrated and in your room. your mom was passed out drunk at 2 pm on a saturday and your dad was long gone.  
you'd pull off my shirt and suck on my nipples, and it felt good, but it also didn't feel good at all. i found myself hating the flesh surrounding what you were sucking on.  
most of the time i'd drift away, put on some music to distract myself and pretend i was one of the spiders on the wall.  
but sometimes, i'd get so wound up i'd start crying, and push you away.  
you'd get a panicked look in your eye and put your shaking, unsteady hands out, asking,  
"did i do anything wrong, charlie?"  
your nickname for me. i'd soon adopt it for myself. i found that even then it made me feel better. sealed up the wound i wasn't sure was even there.  
i nodded. "mmm-hmm."  
we sat there, me with my arms protectively covering my chest, shirt still awkwardly wrung around my neck; you with fingers massaging my legs.  
we aren't sure.  
but i'm with you, so it's okay. that's how i rationalize everything. always have, then and now.

 

i still remember the look of shock on your face when i tell you i'm not a girl, i'm a boy.  
my hair's always been short, i always dressed like you, never flaunted my body and was glad that it never grew the way other girls' bodies had. but i still wanted rid of the body i did have.   
and i tell you cause i'm afraid. you always make it okay.  
you sink to your knees, mumbling nonsense. how will god love you? you question what that makes you. you feel things for me. of course, but, i'm wondering why this is about you now?  
this is why i don't get involved with religion.  
but i hold you anyways.  
whisper that it's okay. you don't have to be anything. gay, straight, a fucking rat, for all i care.  
long as you don't leave, i'm okay.  
we're okay.  
holding you in your room, again.

 

the first time it happens the way it's meant to, you're drunk. i know it won't happen any other way so i pass over vodka bottles and little cans of rum until to you, i am a girl. it's not hard to pretend.   
i've tried hard as i can to hide it, though.  
i know i need to get high to ignore the fact you aren't sober. so i take a huge whiff of the glue.  
your hands run over my chest, flatter now, but you still search to squeeze for the bumps.  
to muffle my frustration, i drag my lip over your finger.  
i apply pressure to your hard on and feel precum leaking onto my own hand.  
this is love.  
i'm telling myself over and over.  
this is love, and it's natural, and you accept me.  
but it's getting harder and harder to convince myself.

 

i'm taking a road trip. tired of this town, tired of your puppy dog eyes. tired of the others' judgemental glances and muttered comments, the way their eyes still gloss over prominence in some areas and lack of others.  
fucking studied by everyone.  
and i don't even feel like you're with me anymore.  
almost on the bus, almost on board.  
i hear you calling after me, hear the flop of your shoes on hot philly pavement.  
then i feel you grab my hand.  
a million electric volts.  
"what?"  
"charlie, just, just wait. i'm in love with you. i don't care. i'm sorry."  
i break down, halfway inside the bus. it's too much.   
you, with soothing sweet nothings, carry me, cradling my head in your arms, back to the bar.  
you flip dennis, dee and frank the bird as we stumble into the back office.  
it's okay.

 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> this is so messy it's literally just a random idea i got at 4 in the morning after thinking about a preteen trans charlie making suicide jokes and mac replying in a meme-type way. i had some other ideas for it but they disappeared before i could write them down so this isn't as good as it could have been :/


End file.
